


It Comes Back to You

by PastelMess



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anxiety, Binge Drinking, Depression, Drug Use, F/M, Guilt, M/M, Panic Attacks, Thoughts of Suicide, Unrequited Love, josh is a sad boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 21:49:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11564022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelMess/pseuds/PastelMess
Summary: Josh wants to stop loving him.





	It Comes Back to You

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this on a plane ride. I've been having a lot of issues of my own lately, and I guess the inspiration just hit me square on.
> 
> It's sad, so please, read the tags and make sure this won't upset you. <3

Josh sits on his sofa, a lit cigarette burning in between his thumb and forefinger. He lulls his head back, looks at the ceiling, before moving to take a drag. Warm, nicotine fills his lungs and he welcomes it with a deep, long breath. On the end table next to him sits two empty beer bottles and one only half empty. There's a stain on his shirt and his fingers tremble. 

He tries not to think about how awful he feels. No, he doesn't feel awful: he feels numb. Numb enough that he isn't thinking at all, only soaking in the smells around him. Smoking was a nasty habit Josh never thought he would ever pick up. He wanted a release, a way to help him forget he was buckled down with stress and anxiety, and unfortunately this was what he got. Josh had smoked weed a couple of times, and enjoyed the euphoria it brought, but cigarettes were easily accessible and perfectly legal. Nobody wanted to mess with a yellow haired, tattooed, and pierced man, but they  _ really _ didn't want to mess with a yellow haired, tattooed, and pierced man smoking on a street corner. 

The drinking bit was fairly new. Josh drank with friends often, but had never felt the need to binge drink. Now that his cigarettes weren't helping as much as they used to, (Josh blamed the addiction,) alcohol made him numb. His fridge was stocked full of beers and Smirnoff.

And so Josh made himself numb to forget about his fucked up life, to forget about his sexuality, to forget about his best friend who was miles away in Columbus, not alone like Josh, but able to touch, to kiss, to  _ make love _ with his wife. All Josh had here was himself and the guilt steadily growing more and more each day because he had fallen in love with his best friend.

It was dumb really, to be so lost, to want to feel numb, because of  _ love. _ Love was nothing more than a feeling, a goddamn chemical, and it was controlling his whole life. Josh didn't know where to even begin reflecting on where things went wrong. Well, maybe he did. 

He had known from a young age that he wasn't straight. Girls didn't excite him in ways they excited his friends. Josh had only had two relationships in high school-- one with a girl named Laura and another with a Rachel. Neither had lasted very long, no more than a school year (and he was pretty sure both girls only dated him so they had a date to prom.) They had never had sex, only kissed a couple of times, (Rachel had let Josh touch her boobs, but he sorta just rested his hands on them, unsure of what to do, and had let her call him an inexperienced asshole. It was true, he supposed. He was an inexperienced asshole. He was an inexperienced asshole who knew he wasn't straight from age 11. Josh didn't notice girls. He didn't care about boobs or butts or curves. Josh liked guys. He liked their broad shoulders, their rippling muscles, their flat chests and wide smiles. It wasn't Jessica, a blonde cheerleader his buddies ogled over, that caught his attention, but Jacob, a dark haired, blue eyed football player whose butt looked so good in his tight jeans. 

From the start, Josh had felt terrible. He knew he shouldn't be liking boys. He knew he shouldn't, but he  _ did,  _ and he couldn't help it. He'd cry himself to sleep, knowing nothing would ever change. Josh tried to pretend. He tried to study girls and see what he liked about them, but Josh could  _ never  _ picture himself having sex with them. In fact, the first time he lost his virginity, all Josh could remember was lying there, his mind blank, staring at some attractive male celebrity on a tabloid magazine, his hands cupped around her breasts, as he fucked her slowly. It meant nothing. It meant he could tell people he wasn't a virgin and that was it.

Josh knew he could always go downtown, into one of Los Angeles’s many gay bars. He knows he could go get some hot dude’s number and hook up in the bathroom, or go back to his apartment and have sex. Josh knows he could do that. He's never really been in a relationship with a guy. He's never had sex with a guy, because he refuses to let himself truly believe he's gay. He wishes he could be. He wishes he could be straight for his family, for the fans with strict parents, for his best friend who doesn't know Josh’s deepest darkest secret. But for now, Josh knows he won't go hook up with a stranger. He can't do that. He can't look someone in the eyes while they have sex. Josh wants to get to know them, go on dates, know little facts only lovers know. 

Fun facts like how _he_ hates coffee. How _he_ loves Taco Bell so much he'd literally eat it for every meal. How _he_ has seen _Donnie Darko_ over a hundred times and can recite half the script from memory.

That's the kind of person Josh could be in a relationship with. Not some stranger from a bar.

With a sigh, Josh flicks ash into the ashtray and shoves his cigarette butt down into the glass. He wipes his hands on his sweatpants and stands up, swaying a little bit, as he gathers his beer bottles and brings them into the kitchen. They land with a  _ thump  _ in the trash can, where he staggers to the medicine cabinet and pulls out his anxiety medication. Two small, green pills fall into the palm of his hand, his shaking hand, and he swallows them dry. Josh leans back against the counter, tilts his head back, and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath through his nose before shuffling into his bedroom. It's almost two o'clock in the morning and Josh knows he won't be going to sleep anytime soon. His insomnia has been terrible lately and is only getting worse. 

Yet another reason to feel numb.

Josh climbs into his bed, his sheets cold against his skin. He bunches his hands under his pillow and takes another deep breath. The back of his throat burns. He thinks about Tyler, 2,000 miles away from him, back in Columbus, back at home. The tour was over, the band was officially on hiatus, and Josh hadn't spoken to Tyler in weeks. They've texted, once or twice, a “hey, how you doing?” kind of text. Josh knows Tyler is busy  _ writing writing writing  _ because he did it the whole tour and still claimed he had more thoughts to put down on paper. Josh knows that Tyler will want to come out to L.A. to work on mixing, to put music to his words. That won't be for a few more months though. For now, Tyler is back home, in his quaint, modern house, one of the most expensive in Columbus, only the best for Jenna. Despite the fact that Tyler and he are best friends, Josh has only been inside a few times. The inside was just as nice as the outside, as Jenna was a fan of interior design. Good for them. Tyler hardly spent his income on anything else besides food; they deserved a nice house.

Josh stares at the blades of the ceiling fan, watching it rotate slowly. Rows of goosebumps cover his arms. 

He finds himself thinking about Debby as he rolls over and pulls the comforter tighter over his shaking body. It's the middle of summer and he feels like he's lying in a freezer. 

Josh had wanted to love her. No, he  _ did  _ love her, but not in the way everyone thought. Debby had been one of Josh’s only “big boy” relationships, as Tyler often joked. The two of them had dated for quite a while, and Debby became quite the help as the band grew and Josh’s anxiety worsened. She gave the best hugs, provided him with warmth, surprised him with little gifts, and made him feel like everything was okay. He had wanted to pretend things were okay, that he was straight, straight as a board, for all the people that needed him to  _ be  _ normal. Most importantly, he was doing it for Tyler. 

Tyler had been worried. He had Jenna, and Josh, at the time, had no one. Josh had assured him he was fine living the quote unquote “single life,” but Tyler knew what bullshit that was. While Tyler was okay with being alone, welcomed it actually, Josh feared being lonely. He knew there was a difference between being  _ alone  _ and being alone. Debby helped fill the void.

True to his words, Josh did love her. He loved her as much as he loved Tyler, as much as he loved his family, and more than he loved coffee. She was beautiful-- he still felt no attraction to her, but kissed her softly, passionately, as he had with Laura and Rachel. They only had slept together three times throughout their relationship-- Josh had tried not to make a big deal about his opinions on sex, but ended up crying the first time they did it. He felt pathetic, because seriously? Crying during sex? But Josh couldn't help it. He couldn't help but think if he would be stuck living this life forever, pretending to be straight because he was too weak to go find love, pretending to be straight because he didn't want to disappoint anyone. 

Debby didn't know what had gone down between Tyler and Josh. Josh had never told her, never told anyone, because Tyler had asked him not to. But she knew. She knew from the start, and one day, Debby had enough.

“Josh?” They had been sitting in the Roosevelt, in the back corner of the cafe, sipping iced lattes. Debby was visiting from L.A., coming to see Josh play a hometown show the next night. Her latte was barely touched, while all that remained of Josh’s was ice. It was late; the lights reflected in the windows and the baristas were closing up for the night. He knew they'd have to leave soon. Josh was dreading it, because he knew what was coming. Once they left the coffee shop, it would be over. Josh’s stupid “illness” would have ruined everything all over again.

His hands trembled as he twisted his straw around in his cup. Josh didn't look up into Debby’s eyes. 

“Josh.” Her voice was more forceful this time. Josh still didn't speak. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” He was a robot. He was monotone. He felt numb.

“Are you... are you gay?”

The words out of her mouth felt like a slap across his face. His face burned. 

“No,” Josh choked out immediately. He had to pretend. He had to pretend for  _ everyone-- _

“Josh, please.” He finally looked up into her eyes, her beautiful, deep eyes. Debby’s hand gently ghosted over his knuckles. “It's okay. I understand. I understand the fear, the obsession, the  _ pretending,  _ all of it. I know something is wrong. I know you don't feel good about it. But we...” she took a deep breath. “I can't date someone who is in love with somebody else.”

Another slap across the face. Josh’s tongue swelled in his mouth. “Whaddya mean?”

“I see the way you look at him.”

“At who?”  _ Please don't say his name. Don't say his name. _

“Tyler. Josh, anyone can see it. You are in love with your best friend. I know, because it's the same way I look at you.”

“I love you, Debby. I love you more than anything in the world.”

“And I believe that, but not in the way I want. Not in the same way you love Tyler.”

“He’s got Jenna.”

“You have to stop dating girls, Josh. You'll never find the one.”

“I can't--” Josh squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at his forehead. The lights dimmed. Closing time. “You don't understand, I can't, I can't come out and  _ say it, _ I can't admit it to myself.”

Her hand wrapped around his, tightly this time, a sign of support, of sympathy. “Love is love. We can't pick who we fall in love with. We can't pick who we are attracted to. Being attracted to men won't change the fact that you are a wonderful, kind, talented person.”

“Once I admit it to myself, everything else will go downhill. As much as I hate using the term, I am kind of a celebrity, Debby. If anyone knew--”

“Joshua, the world we live in is nothing like it was thirty years ago. You'd be treated the same way.”

“You don't know that!” He raised his voice, causing the baristas to look over at him. Josh took a deep breath to collect himself. “I can't tell anyone. Especially not Tyler.”

Debby sighed. She looked over at the employees, who were giving her the “look.” They wanted to go home. “Josh, I love you. I love you more than you will ever know. But we have to break up. I can't keep pretending that I'm happy and you can't keep pretending that you're straight. You have to figure things out, whatever way that may be. Talk to Tyler and tell him. Go to a bar and hook up with someone. I mean, have you  _ ever _ had sex with a man?” Silence. “Please, let yourself be happy.”

One of the baristas, a blonde girl who couldn't have been older than 18, approached them. “Hey guys, we’re--”

“Closing up. Right. We were just leaving.” Debby interrupted, reaching for their cups. She tossed them into the garbage and turned back towards Josh. “Please let yourself be happy,” she repeated before walking out the door. Josh sat still for a few more seconds, watching the uneasy girls staring at him from the corner of his eye, before he too stood up and left.

Josh rolls over in bed and goes back to watching his ceiling fan. He reaches for his phone to check the time. 3 am. Nice. 

Oh, and he has a text from Tyler. It's 6 over there; Josh knew Tyler had sleeping problems too. He downed sleeping pills almost every night on tour. After rubbing his eyes, Josh unlocks his iPhone and opens his messages.

 

_ Hey fren, hope all is well. Know we haven't talked in awhile. I've been working on the new album, hope you have some drum beats for me. I know you're probably sleeping but I miss you. Come back to Columbus soon, okay? We haven't gone this long without seeing each other in years.  _

 

Josh's phone chimes again.

 

_ Jenna’s got the guest room made up. I'll make her sleep in it so we can snuggle like old times. _

With a sigh, Josh shoves his phone back under his pillow. He can’t talk to Tyler, not now, not ever. 

It vibrates again and again.

 

_ J, I'm worried about you.  _

 

_ You know you can talk to me about anything, right? We're best friends. The bestest of best friends. You're my bro, my broski, my brahddy. I love you, dude. _

 

That’s it. Josh rolls out of bed, shoves his phone in his dresser, deep underneath boxer briefs and socks, shoves his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, slides into an old pair of vans and leaves his apartment, the door slamming shut. Josh wants to scream. He doesn't know what to do anymore. 

Josh wants to go back to 2011. Back when they were nobodies. Back when Tyler was nothing but a crush, because the way he moved, the way he acted, enticed Josh, interested Josh, brought him to the band. Josh no longer wanted strong men with broad shoulders and rippling muscles, but tall, lanky men with posterity and tanned skin. 

No, Josh wanted Tyler. Because in 2011, it was the two of them. In 2011, they slept in a van, their bodies pressed up against each other. In 2011, Tyler wanted to experiment. In 2011, Tyler gave Josh handjobs, Tyler kissed him, Tyler  _ made out  _ with him, Tyler ran his hands over Josh’s bare chest and told him how beautiful he was. In 2011, Tyler wanted a  _ future  _ with Josh.

But it had been too good to be true. Because Tyler wasn't gay. He had made that very obvious that it was an experiment and only an experiment, that they couldn't be together for the sake of the band, for the sake of publicity, because Tyler was “boringly straight,” as he had told Josh. Josh had lied. He told Tyler he felt the same. He told Tyler that kissing him, giving him blowjobs, had meant nothing. That having Tyler’s cock in his mouth had been fun and all, but he was very into pussy.

Josh was a liar. He watched Tyler meet Jenna, date Jenna, propose to Jenna, marry Jenna, and now he couldn't do anything. He would be alone forever because Josh refused to go out and find someone he could love. 

He would never get over Tyler. He knew he couldn't. How could he get over someone he had been in love with for six years? How could he get over someone that he was forced to spend time with 24/7? Every time Tyler  _ changed  _ in front of him, Josh had to bite his tongue. How could he  _ get over him? _

Josh doesn't feel numb anymore. His fingertips tingle. He needs to smoke. He shouldn't have left his apartment without his cigarettes and now he's walking around downtown at 3:30 in the morning. He's going to get mugged or something. He's an idiot. 

There's a girl smoking on the corner. He wonders if she'll let him bum off of hers. 

He's pathetic.

Her hair is bright purple and she leans against the wall, her right foot pressed up against it. Josh wonders if she's scared, being out here alone. Her eyes look up when Josh steps towards her. He knows that look.

“Josh, right?”

He nods. Nobody knew Josh smoked. Of course this chick had to be a fan. Of course, of course, of course.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. Here he is in his pjs, alcohol on his breath, his hair sticking up in a million directions and lost because his best friend sent him a  _ goddamn  _ text.

She smiles. “Roosevelt, but everyone calls me Rosie. Not really the biggest fan of your band, but good job nonetheless. You want a cig?”

Josh nods. She's not a fan. She won't tell anyone. He takes the offered cigarette from Rosie, puts it up to her flickering lighter, and takes a deep drag. Josh deserves to be hooked on such a filthy past time activity. He's impure. He's a mess. 

They smoke in silence for a few minutes, the embers of their cigarettes glowing in the sad shadows of the street. Josh wants to ask why she's out here so early in the morning. She beats him to it. 

“Nobody comes outside at three am unless they've got a problem.”

“Is that why you're out here?” He asks, hoping he's not intruding. Rosie nods.

“I came out to my parents and they kicked me out of the house.”

“Shit,” he mumbles. His hands shake even more. 

“I'm nineteen, so technically I shouldn't be living with them anyways, you know? But I'm an idiot. I dropped out of college. They've made it clear they think I'm a failure. They tell my brother, Pierce, not to follow in my footsteps.” She scoffs. “It's ironic, they named us after two presidents and I'm worse than a fucking republican.” Rosie runs a hand through her hair and sighs. “I don't know why I thought telling them I'm a lesbian would make things any better.”

“Do you feel better?”

She shrugs. “I'm glad I got it off my chest. It's hard, keeping such a big part of my life a secret. I'm glad they know now.”

Josh's stomach churns. He nods, and she continues.

“Anywho, I took the bus here from Vegas and then I walked until I deemed it safe enough for a smoke break.”

“Do you have somewhere to go?”

“Yeah, my girlfriend lives in town. She's coming to pick me up.”

“Good.” Josh flicks ash off his cigarette. Rosie watches him curiously.

“You don't seem as pretentious as the radio makes you out to be.” Josh snorts, causing Rosie to smile. “Why are you out here, drummer boy?”

“I hate myself and can't sleep,” Josh admits. Rosie laughs, but it isn't mockingly. It's a “me too” kind of laugh.

“I'll smoke to that.” She raises her cigarette high and proud, puffing out her chest a bit. “To your crappy band and to life for being a real piece of shit.”

“Amen,” Josh replies, raising his own. He smiles. For the first time in days, Josh  _ smiles. _

A car rumbles up to the curb. Josh assumes that's Rosie’s ride as she drops her cig and crushes it under her boot. She offers Josh her calloused hand. “It was a pleasure to meet the real Josh Dun.”

“What Roosevelt are you named after?”

She winks, and just like that, Rosie is gone, and Josh is brought back to the real world.

He's alone.

-

The next morning, Tyler calls him. Josh politely declines. 

Tyler calls again. Josh hits decline again. 

Tyler leaves him a voicemail. Josh begrudgingly listens to it.

“Hey, J. I know you're ignoring me because it's ringing once and heading straight to voicemail. I don't why you're ignoring me. Maybe you're mad at me. You haven't answered my texts either. Josh, I'm even more worried now. Are you taking care of yourself? I hope so. I hope you're okay. Maybe you're just busy. I hope that's the case. Maybe you'll shoot me a text later or call me. I hope so.” Tyler sighs. “I miss you, Josh. Touring makes everything better. Not touring sucks. I don't realize how much I love touring until we're done. Anyways. I'll talk to you later.”

With a sigh of his own, Josh closes out of his voicemail box and pushes his phone away from him. He suddenly feels sick to his stomach. He probably got two hours of sleep tops last night and feels too sick to eat. Instead, Josh reaches for his carton of cigarettes and heads outside onto his balcony. He sits in a rocking chair, kicks his feet up onto the railing, and begins to toss the package between his hands. He can hear them rattling. His lungs burns. 

If Josh died of lung cancer, he doesn't think he would care. If he got hit by a bus, he doesn't think he would care. 

The term is passive suicide. He remembers hearing it somewhere. The ideal of being passively suicidal doesn't sit well with him, but it's better than being actively suicidal, right?

He counts. There are nine cigarettes left in his box. He’ll have to go out and buy more today. Maybe he’ll buy expensive ones. He's got the money. 

Money he never spends. Money he has no interest in spending. 

Josh fishes his lighter from his pocket. It takes him a few times to strike it, but when it finally catches, he lights his first cigarette and he thinks of Debby. He thinks of his family. He thinks of the fans, of the band, when he's on stage drumming his heart out. 

Josh chain smokes now. He smokes until there is nothing left to smoke. How can he play the drums when he's out of breath after half a song? How can he continue being in a band with Tyler when he can hardly stand to be around him, to see him? To see Tyler’s dark hair, his piercing eyes, his thick eyebrows and tiny nose and dimples and perfect pink lips that Josh wishes with all his heart he could kiss again. Being in love with Tyler has destroyed Josh.

Destroyed him. 

When Josh finishes his carton, he flicks his cigarette butt off the balcony and heads back inside to change. With the exception of last night, this is really the first time Josh has left his apartment. His living room is covered in Chinese take out containers and pizza boxes from the earlier weeks when he could eat. Josh barely eats now. He feels weak. He knows he probably looks like a skeleton.

His mother calls him as he stares at himself in the mirror, standing completely naked. What a difference a few weeks looks like. He seems paler. His cheekbones seem more hollowed, and the indent in his chest seems deeper. He feels gross. He feels disgusting. 

He can't bring himself to do anything. 

No man would ever want to see him like this. Tyler was proof. Tyler said it was an experiment and didn't matter. What if other people said that too? What if Josh  _ was _ just an experiment?

The phone stops ringing. Josh wraps a hand around his dick. He hasn't gotten off in weeks. He feels too dirty to do so. But now, looking at himself in the mirror, greasy hair, sunken eyes and all, he knows he's reached rock bottom. He releases his cock and pushes his fingers back farther, still watching himself in the mirror. He finds his entrance and gently works his finger up his ass. It'd probably be better if he had lube. This is painful. It burns. 

But Josh keeps going. He pushes deeper. He moves his finger around, stretches himself, lets himself moan, and pictures that it's Tyler doing this. Tyler is stretching him. Tyler is going to fuck him.

Tears burn at the corners of his eyes. His phone rings again. Josh is disgusting. He is absolutely, one hundred percent disgusting. 

He pulls his finger out of his ass and turns away from the mirror. He washes his hands and pulls on a pair of boxers, then a pair of basketball shorts, and a random t-shirt that says “Columbus Soccer Camp” on it that he got as a gag gift from a thrift store downtown. 

How can Josh be expected to admit to himself that he's gay when he can barely do this? Why does he feel so guilty?

He thinks back to when he had spent time with Ashley Frangipane. Back when she had taken him to a gay bar so he could experience it. Back when he used to freak out at the fact that people thought there was even the slightest possibility he was gay. Josh knew now though that a ton of people thought he was gay, or at least questioned his sexuality. A lot of them thought he was together with Tyler. They wrote stories, stories that Josh often read because he could pretend that he was dating Tyler and hadn't lost him that cold, March day back in 2011 when he told Tyler that what they had done didn't matter because he was boringly straight. 

Josh's phone is still ringing. He reaches for it and answers his mother’s call just in time, spending a few seconds looking at the tattoo he got for her. It seems to burn, like it's a brand and not a tattoo. 

“Joshua?” She sounds so worried. Josh tries to remember the last time they talked. He thinks it might have been last week.

“Hey, mom.” Josh coughs, loudly and sadly, and he knows he's really fucked up now. Anyone could hear his smoker’s cough. He's surprised his teeth and nails haven't turned yellow yet. 

“I'm worried about you, baby.”

Josh scoffs. “Did Tyler get to you?”

“He did call me, yes. He said you aren't answering his texts and calls. Any reason why?”

“Don't feel like talking to him.” He cradles the phone between his shoulder blade and ear as he moves to lace up his sneakers. “The tour is over. The album is done with. We have down time now. Tyler gets to spend time with his wife and I get to do my own stuff.”

“He's your best friend, don't you think you should be talking with him?”

“I just don't see a need to right now. You can tell him I'm fine.”

“But you aren't fine. I grew up in the seventies. I know what smoker’s cough sounds like.” Her tone is disappointing. Josh feels worse.  _ Imagine if I told her I like men. Imagine if I told her I can't talk to Tyler because I'm in love with him and the pure thought of seeing him again makes me want to rip out my stomach.  _

“I never meant to get hooked,” he admits, and Rosie is right. It is good to get things off his chest. “It started about a year ago. My anxiety meds weren't working as well as I wanted them to, and smoking helped calm me down. They were easy to get to. But things escalated and now I'm hooked.” Josh's voice cracks. He hears his mother sigh. 

“It's okay, Josh. We can get you off of those. We can wean you. It'll take work, but we can do it. Maybe you should come back home and stay with us for a few days.”

“I don't want to go back to Ohio,” he spits out, probably a tad too venomously. “I hate Ohio. I can't stand to be there.”

“Baby, everyone is worried about you.”

“Well nobody needs to be worried because I'm perfectly fine. I gotta run. There's stuff I have to do today.”

“I love you,” she says, and Josh hangs up before she can say anymore. He sets his phone on his dresser, grabs his wallet, and leaves. 

-

Josh buys four of the most expensive packs of cigarettes he can get at the gas station down the street. Fortunately for him, no one has noticed who he is or drawn attention, and despite the fact that it's blazing hot outside, he has his hood pulled tight over his head and wears a thick pair of frames. Josh prays nobody will spot him. He doesn't need to be in the tabloids seen buying cigarettes.

After that, Josh sulks down the street. He's sweating so badly but doesn't take his hood off for the fear of being recognized. He can't do it, not today, not tomorrow, not next week. He thinks he'd have a mental breakdown, or a panic attack, or pass out even. 

He forgot to take his medication.

Josh feels sick to his stomach and suddenly is overcome with anxiety. He pauses to lean against the front of a store and takes a few deep breaths to collect himself. He can't smoke here, he can't smoke in public. Someone will see him. Someone will find out.

He keeps walking. He walks all the way back to his apartment, climbs the stairs, pushes through the front door, and collapses onto the carpet. Josh feels defeated. He feels like he's being swallowed whole by his demons. He feels like he's suffocating, surrounded by a wall of heat, unable to escape. He’s disgusting. He's falling apart. 

This might have started with his sexuality, with Tyler, with himself, but now it's so much more. 

Josh shrugs out of his clothes until he's in nothing but his boxers. His skin is slick with desert heat as he retrieves his cigarettes, all four boxes, and clutches them tightly to his chest. He drops them down onto the coffee table, right next to his glass ashtray, and disappears into the kitchen to retrieve his vodka. 

Vodka tastes gross, but it makes him numb. It makes him forget. 

And so Josh drinks. And Josh chain smokes. And he makes himself forget that he's gay, that he's in love with his married best friend, that he's suffering from mental illness and that he's apart of a stupid band that everyone in the goddamn world is obsessed with. 

Josh hates himself. He absolutely hates himself.

-

He's sick to his stomach and drunk off his ass when there's a knock at the door. Josh doesn't get off his couch to answer it. He feels ready to throw up.

The knocks become more frantic and louder. The doorknob turns, and in comes Tyler. He has a backpack over his shoulders and a frown on his face. The backpack lands on the ground with a thud as Tyler makes his way over to his drunken friend.

“Josh?” Tyler sounds scared. Josh giggles quietly to himself.

“M’drunk,” he says, before vomiting all over himself. Tyler looks at the ashtray where smoke is still billowing from Josh’s last few cigarettes. He sees the two empty containers and Josh’s half used third. He sees the half drunken bottle of vodka and feels like crying. This is what Josh has been up to the past month? This isn't Josh. This is an imposter.

“Let's get you into the tub,” Tyler says softly. He lifts Josh up by his armpits, ignoring the puke underneath his fingers, and helps move his friend to the bathtub. He sets Josh in, boxers and all, and turns on the water to the warmest setting Josh can handle.

Josh doesn't speak. He's so numb. He barely even knows that Tyler is here.

Tyler takes a wet washcloth to Josh’s chest and cleans him thoroughly. He uses the shower head to wet Josh’s hair and washes it, his fingers soft against Josh’s scalp. 

“I can't believe you did this to yourself, buddy,” Tyler murmurs, knowing perfectly well Josh won't be able to properly respond. He washes the shampoo out of Josh's hair and lathers his hands with conditioner. “Is this why you've been ignoring me? I've been so worried, you know. I took the first flight here I could get. I didn't even tell Jenna until I was already halfway to the airport.”

Josh recognizes her name and laughs to himself. “Hate her,” he mumbles, splashing his hands in the bath water. Tyler tilts his head.

“You hate Jenna?”

“Yes,” Josh nods. “She took you ‘way’frum me.” He pushes his head back into Tyler’s palms, who pulls away to reach for the shower head once more. The spray is warm against Josh's scalp.

“Do you know what you're saying? That's my wife, dude.”

“Mhmm,” he hums. Tyler leans back on his knees and Josh slips under the water. He wants to die. He wants to die. 

Tyler pulls him back up with tears in his eyes. “J, let's get you into bed, okay?”

“It's so easy, to jus’ go under,” he slurs, sinking back down. “Disappear.”

“C’mon Jish, let’s get out of the tub, okay? We're gonna go to your bed and sleep, okay?” He hooks his hands back under Josh’s armpits and reaches to wrap him in a towel. Josh sways, his eyes closed, as he lets Tyler lead him to his bedroom, lets Tyler dry him off, lets Tyler dress him. Josh climbs into bed and stares at the ceiling fan. The bed dips as Tyler settles down next to him and begins to run a brush through his hair. Josh doesn't register any of this.

He's too numb. 

“I'm so sorry,” Tyler is crying now. His tears fall silently. “I should have been there, I should have realized something was wrong so much earlier and I didn't and now you, you're  _ smoking, _ and drinking enough to give yourself alcohol poisoning--” he stops, folds in on himself and rubs his eyes. Josh sniffs and continues to watch his ceiling fan rotate. His eyelids are heavy but his body won't let him sleep. He feels sick again.

“M’drunk,” Josh repeats. Tyler nods and pushes himself out of Josh’s bed.

“I'll go get you a bowl in case you need to puke again. You should probably take a sleeping pill too, I know how bad your insomnia and anxiety can get.”

Tyler is gone once more. Josh is alone.

-

When Josh wakes up, Tyler is nowhere to be found. Josh wonders briefly if he dreamt the whole thing.

He stops wondering once he throws up into the bowl next to him and carries it to the bathroom, where he drops to his knees and continues to vomit. Feet scurry in from behind him, and sure enough, there in all his glory, is Tyler. He hadn't dreamt the whole thing. 

Josh feels even worse.

Tyler rests his hand on the small of Josh’s back and rubs small circles as he spits and sits up. Josh leans forward to flush the toilet and refuses to look back at his friend. The words come out before he can control himself.

“Why are you here?”

Tyler pulls away like he’s been burned. His face twists into confusion. “Josh--”

“No, I’m serious.”  _ Finally,  _ Josh flips around. Seeing the pain in Tyler’s eyes makes him feel so much worse. His head pounds. “Why are you here?”

“You weren’t answering my calls or my texts. I was worried. I thought maybe something had happened, and I’m right. Please, J, whatever is going on, we can talk through it. We can get you help. You know you can talk to me about anything, you’re my best friend.”

Josh doesn't respond. He stands up and pads into his kitchen for his anxiety medication and some Advil. He pours himself a glass of water and swallows his pills, still ignoring Tyler from behind him.

“When did you start smoking?” Tyler asks. Josh doesn't look at him. His fingers clench over the edge of the counter until his knuckles turn white. “You know that's not good for you--”

“Get the fuck out of my house.” Josh whips around. He ignores the fear in Tyler’s eyes. 

“Josh--”

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” He screams, pushing his glass to the floor. It shatters, sending small pierces scurrying across the tile. Tyler backs up a little bit, his mouth open, still in shock. Josh bursts into tears. He slides to the floor, ignoring the glass piercing his skin and buries his head into his arms. He can't do this. Josh can't do this.

Tyler doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t leave either. He goes into Josh’s laundry room to retrieve his broom and dustpan and sweeps away all the glass. Fortunately, none of the glass is stuck in Josh’s skin, so Tyler sits down.

“Talk to me,” he whispers. “Please. I’m all ears.”

Josh pulls his hands away and runs one through his hair. He fumbles for the counter to pull himself up, and grabs his last pack of cigarettes. Tyler is watching him.

“I need to smoke,” he says. Tyler nods, and follows Josh outside on the balcony. There’s already a collection of lighters out on the deck. 

Tyler waits until Josh is ready. Josh knows he’ll never be ready, but he’s going to say it anyways. He needs help. He knows he needs help.

Josh pulls the cigarette away from his lips and looks his friend right in the eyes. “Tyler, I’m in love with you.”

Tyler blinks. Josh knows it probably didn’t register. Considering Josh himself had a mental breakdown and was hungover, he thought he was starting off pretty okay.

“It’s so fucking hard for me to be around you. Ever since we met, no, since that stupid concert when I came to watch your band, our band now, I was intrigued with you. And then, and then, you kissed me. We actually had a relationship, and for the first time in my life, I was happy.”

“But...” Tyler trails off, unsure of what to say. His gaze has fallen away from Josh’s face at this point.

“I can’t keep lying to myself. I can’t keep lying to everyone else. I’m falling apart, man. I smoke a pack of cigs a day, well, more now, I drink until I pass out, I’ve barely left my house, I barely eat, and yesterday was the first time I’ve bathed in weeks. I... I want to die.” Josh chuckles. Saying it out loud reminds him how real all of this is. “Tyler, I’m gay. I’ve never been straight. I thought I could force myself, but I can’t. I’m not happy. I don’t... I don’t like girls. And dating Debby... I thought I loved her. I  _ did _ love her. But not the way I loved you.”

“Josh.” Tyler wants him to stop, but Josh needs to finish. Now that he’s started, he has to finish.

“I lied to you, Tyler, because I was lying to myself. You said you wanted to try something new. So we made out, and we gave each other blow jobs, and we kept each other company, and I haven’t been the same since. Because I’ve only allowed myself to sleep with girls. I don’t know what it’s like to sleep with a man. The closest I came to sleeping with a man was with you, and I felt okay. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like a pathetic, miserable asshole. And I can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what, Josh? What do you want me to do?”

“You told me it meant nothing, what we did. That it was only an experiment. And I had to lie and say I felt the same way. Because you’re straight. You’re so goddamn straight and I’m fucking gay and I wish I fucking wasn’t.”

“Josh.” Tyler’s voice is full of guilt. “I’m so sorry. I don’t... I don’t know what to say besides I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I never knew...” his eyes roll up to the ceiling. “I never meant to hurt you. I liked kissing you, I just, I never saw myself doing that with another guy. You're my best friend, J. I didn't want us to get too involved. That's dangerous, the whole thing was dangerous because if we get more involved and something went wrong, I wouldn't just lose you, I'd lose the band too. And I do love you Josh, I love you more than you could ever know, but not... not that way. I'm straight. I'm in love with Jenna. I'm  _ married _ to her, we’re gonna have children, have a family--”

“I get it. I'm not telling you to drop your perfect life with Jenna to date me. I know that'll never happen. But that's why I'm like this. I can't, I can't believe this is happening. My life is shit right now. I can't go out and find a guy to date; what if the paparazzi find out? What if someone sees me out somewhere? What about my family? What about our relationship? I don't want to lose you Tyler, but I also can't fucking  _ stand _ to be around you.”

Tyler swallows loudly. He nods his head. “What do you want to do then? You need help. Proper help.”

“I know I do. I'll check myself into rehab or something along those lines. Maybe they'll be able to help me stop smoking and drinking and feeling like utter shit.”

“So you want me to stay away from you.” Tyler sounds broken. Josh knows that sound because he's broken himself.

“I know how terrible that sounds. And I'm so sorry. But I can't, I just can't do this. Not right now. You know why I was ignoring you. I am a mess who needs all the help he can get.”

“I'll get your mom,” Tyler offers, pushing himself up out of his chair. He begins pacing the deck as Josh reaches for another cigarette. “We’ll figure out a way to check you into rehab with nobody knowing. We’ll get you help, medicine, therapists, doctors, all of it. We’ll help you feel whole again.”

Josh laughs again, quietly to himself. He hadn't talked to a therapist since he was a teenager. He runs his free hand through his hair and looks out into the city. Josh remembers why he moved away from Ohio in the first place. He wanted an escape from his family, from that state that had placed bonds and chains on him, and most importantly, from Tyler.

“I'm serious, J. You have people who love you. People that would be sad if you left. And I don't care that you're gay. It's okay, Josh. Nobody is going to treat you different--”

“You don't know that!” Josh raises his voice, his cigarette forgotten as ashes rain to the deck below. He can't believe he's having this conversation again, the same conversation he had with Debby years earlier. “People will treat me differently. People treat gay people different all the time. ‘It's just a fad,’ they say, ‘it can be treated,’ they say, but I've tried so hard to make myself straight and I can't do it. I don't like girls. I've never liked girls. Having sex with them brought me no pleasure whatsoever and that's fucked up! Why couldn't I have just been born normal?” He takes a deep breath to collect himself, and shoves his half finished cigarette into the ashtray. “My parents could treat me different. You know how strict they were when I was little. And my teen years? I knew I was gay. I've known from the start, because I'd find myself staring at the football players, not the cheerleaders. I had certain shit I could listen to, and the times I snuck in banned material, they found out, and I got in trouble. There are kids out there Tyler, kids who listen to  _ our  _ music. We have given strict parents no reason to put Twenty One Pilots on their list of banned bands. Me being gay? Me coming out? Puts us at number one. And I don't want that to happen. I don't want to ruin lives because I'm fucked up in the head.”

“There's nothing wrong with being gay, Josh.” Tyler's eyes are watering. “And your parents, they've loosened up over the years, there's no guarantee they'd just throw you out to the streets--”

“There's nothing wrong with being gay, huh? That's why you won't admit to yourself? This whole time, you've referred to what we did back then as an ‘experiment,’ but it was so much more than that.  _ You  _ brought it on.  _ You _ kept coming back for more.  _ You  _ sucked me in and  _ you  _ have never wanted to talk about it ever again. I bet Jenna doesn't even know, right?”

“We both agreed to end things. We both agreed to not talk about it again.”

“Why did you want to try then, Tyler? Did you want to see if you were gay? Did you want to see if kissing your best friend was all the hype everyone made it out to be?”

“Josh, stop it. I love you, okay? I've loved you from the start. I loved you when we kissed and I loved you when we stopped and I love you now. But you can't keep looking into what happened six years ago. You're right, I did want to see what it was like to kiss a boy and I kissed you and I liked it, okay? But like I said before, I could never do that with any other guy. Even now, I wouldn't want to kiss you again.”

It feels like a slap across the face. Josh wants to be numb again. He wants Tyler to be gone again.

“Please leave,” Josh says, his fingers trembling. He thinks about last night, how much of a mess he was when Tyler found him, how much he wanted to die. “Please. I need to be alone.”

“I'm sorry,” Tyler says for the millionth time, “I don't want us to not be friends anymore, and I don't want you to get sicker. If I leave, will you be okay?”

“Get out.” Josh is done being nice. With a nod, Tyler leaves back through the sliding glass door. A few minutes later, the faint sound of the front door slamming shut burns in Josh's eardrums.

He doesn't want to know where Tyler is going. He doesn't care. Josh doesn't want to see Tyler again for a very long time.

-

Later that day, Josh dresses himself and goes out to buy more cigarettes. He gets eight packs this day, knowing he'll probably smoke straight through two of them just tonight. He knows he needs to call his mom and tell her. He knows he needs to find a rehabilitation center to check into, one that will make him feel “whole again” as Tyler kept saying. He’ll look some up later.

Maybe he'll call Debby. When she got her DUI, she went to a rehabilitation place. She already knows. Maybe she'll help him.

Josh shoves his cigarettes into the pocket of his hoodie and fishes out his phone. He adjusts his hat and sunglasses as it rings, once, twice, three times before she picks up.

“Josh? What's wrong?”

“I need help,” he croaks out, his throat burning. He knows he might start crying. 

“Are you about to hurt yourself?”

“No, no, I just, I need to talk to you. I need your help. He came by, and--”

“He?” Debby interrupts. “Tyler?”

Josh wants to be numb again. He wants to be home, in the safety of his apartment, away from the heat and the people and all of  _ this.  _ “Yes,” he whispers, more than sure Debby can't hear him over the roar of the city. 

The last time he spoke with Debby was before they started Tour De Columbus. He had talked to her about his mess of a life, about having to spend time with Tyler again. 

“You could tell him,” she said, and Josh had been pissed she had even suggested that idea. If it hadn't been for Debby and his brother, Josh wouldn't have survived that stupid string of hometown shows. 

It wasn't stupid though. It was nostalgic, playing those venues and being reminded of better times. Times when he could actually be around Tyler without being on the urge of a panic attack or feeling sick to his stomach. 

“He just showed up?” She confirms, “With no warning?”

“Yes,” Josh gasps. He needs to go home. He needs to get away from here.

He starts moving, his body, his mind, on autopilot. 

“Where are you?” 

Josh doesn't reply. He sees people coming towards him. They recognize him. 

“Josh, where are you? I'm in L.A. right now,  I can come get you. Are you back home? Are you out?”

He turns down an alleyway, hoping they'll stop following him. The shutter of a camera finds his ears as he turns down a different street.

“Josh, babe, come on, talk to me. Tell me where you are.”

Josh feels like he's being followed. He turns down another street, and then another. There's a Starbucks. Does he dare go in? Can he?

“Josh!” Debby yells now. He flinches, sending his phone scattering across the concrete. His screen is cracked into a million pieces. 

With a shaky hand, Josh picks up his phone and puts it up to his ear as he pushes into Starbucks. Fortunately for him, the place isn't too busy with it being in the middle of the day on a Tuesday. Debby is still on call, thankfully.

“Josh, please, talk to me. Where are you? Where can I find you?”

“Starbucks.” His voice cracks. Josh finds a table farthest back as possible. 

“Where?”

“I didn't look.”

“It's okay, just text me your location from your phone, okay? Do you know how to do that?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can. Stay put, use your coping methods. Mindfulness and counting, okay?”

“Okay,” Josh repeats. The call ends. Josh first texts Debby his location before setting his phone down and looking around the busy cafe. First things first: five things he can hear.

People conversing. The clinking of spoons against pitchers. Slurping. The door every time it opens and closes. The vibrations of phones around him against the tabletop.

By the time Josh has gotten through all his senses, Debby is coming towards him. Her hair is in a messy bun and she's in her glasses and a pair of sweatpants. Josh feels bad. She must have really dropped everything to come here. She's not even wearing makeup.

“Scale of one to ten?”

“Probably a nine now. I was at like a fifteen.” Josh pushes his fingers into his eyes. “I'm not going to have a panic attack now.”

“Exercises went okay then?” 

A nod. “Yeah.” She points to his cracked phone. 

“Did this happen during... you know?”

“I dropped it. I thought some recognized me and freaked out.”

“It's okay. Nobody is gonna recognize us, especially when I look this terrible.” She chuckles. “Plus, you're wearing a heavy sweatshirt and a hat. It's okay.”

Josh breathes in deeply through his nose. “I told him.”

“Told him what?” Josh is thankful he doesn't have to say Tyler's name. 

“That I'm... you know.”

She quirks up an eyebrow and leans back in her chair. “Ah. How he'd take that?”

“He took that part fine. It was the ‘I'm in love with you’ bit that made things worse.”

“Oh, love.” She reaches out to pat his hand. “I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay. I figured things wouldn't go well. I just can't stand to be around him right now, as terrible as that sounds. Things for me have not been good.” Josh slides his eight cartons of cigarettes out of his pockets and dumps them onto the table. Debby’s eyes widen. 

“You... you smoke?”

“I started last year. It started as a way to calm my anxiety. I barely finished one pack a year. But now I'm hooked. I smoked three whole packs yesterday. Plus I drink like crazy, to the point where I'm running the risks of getting alcohol poisoning. I can't eat, I can't sleep, and I'm on the verge of getting ready to kill myself.” He bites back a laugh. So much for being passively suicidal.

Debby’s frown deepens. “Oh, Josh. I didn't realize it was this bad.”

“I need help. I need to do something to get myself out of this hole. I can't think straight Debs. I don't want to disappoint the fans. And you know, I'm supposed to be performing at the APMA’s in a week and I don't even think I'll be able to do that. All this smoking has made it impossible for me to play drums without gasping for air.”

“I can go with you. I went to rehab and they sorted me out. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Lots of people have been there. Or we could take you to the hospital and put you in an inpatient program. You'd get to talk to a psychiatrist and they'd take good care of you, only problem is that there's no guarantee that you'll be out before your performance.”

I need to start weaning off these stupid things. I'll check myself into rehab after that performance is over.”

“Josh, you know there are going to be people there that will want to talk to you and take pictures with you. Are you going to be okay enough to interact with them? What about that award you guys were nominated for? Will you be able to go up there and speak in front of everyone?”

“I'm not worried about that,” Josh sighs. “The problem is if I'll last until then.”

“You need to tell them you can't do it.”

“It’s next week. I can't do that. That's a dick thing to do. Besides, I was supposed to meet up with my family afterwards since it's in Cleveland.”

“I'm just worried about you.”

“I know. I'm worried too. That's why I came to you. I knew you'd be able to help me.” He laughs again. It's short and bitter. “I said the words, Debby. I said to him, ‘I'm gay.’ I actually said that out loud.”

“It's okay,” she promises, “it becomes easier once you admit it to yourself. You deserve to be happy. They can help you with that in rehab too. You'll get to talk to someone and they'll make you feel comfortable about who you are.”

“I don't think I’ll ever be comfortable with who I am.”

“But it'll be a start. You have me, and you have your family, and as much as you don't want to hear it, Tyler. You know he'd be the first person to do anything for you.”

“I know that,” Josh murmurs. “That’s what makes it so hard.”

“Where did he end up going?”

Josh shrugs. “I kicked him out. Either he got a flight back home or he went and found a hotel. He can't stay with the Urie’s because they're in New York.”

“Okay, here's what we're gonna do.” Debby pulls her purse into her lap and retrieves her debit card out of her wallet. “First things first, we’re going to get coffee. I'm going to get you a big, iced Americano, and then we're gonna make a plan to get you back on the right path. How's that sound?”

“That sounds great,” Josh forces a smile. “Thank you.”

-

An iced Americano and a caramel macchiato later, Debby begins telling Josh her plan.

“Okay. Your APMA performance is next week. Until then, you are only allowed one box of cigarettes a day, so you better space them out. We’ll get you some nicotine patches too, okay?”

Josh nods. He’s already dreading this, but knows it’s a good idea.

“There’s other stuff that’s made to help smokers quit, so we can go to the store together and look.” Debby reaches out for Josh’s stockpile of cigarettes, pulling seven of them towards her so Josh is only left with one. “Second, we’re going to get rid of all the alcohol in your apartment. You aren’t addicted, are you?”

“I don’t think so. I just drink to feel numb.”

“Okay then. We aren’t going to do that anymore. I know this next week and a half are going to be very difficult, but if you want to make that performance, this is what we have to do. Then the second you’re finished, we’re going to check you into rehab.”

“What about my parents?”

“You tell them what’s going on. You don’t need to tell them you’re gay, just that you’re going to rehab. That way they won’t worry as much.”

“Okay. I’ll call them tonight.”

“I’ll be with you this whole time. I don’t really have much going on, so watching you can be my full time priority. Third, if you win this award and have to go up there, are you going to be okay?”

Josh takes a deep breath. “You’ll fear your fears forever if you never do the things you’re afraid of.”

Debby smiles. “Good boy. You’ve got this, J. I know you do. Despite your setbacks, you’re still a great person, and everyone can see that.”

“The fans only see what I want them to see.”

“Joshua.” Her tone is firm but her touch is gentle. “You are one of the best people I've ever met, and I've met a lot of people. I'm not just saying this. And I'm more than sure many people would agree with me. We live in an honest world. Nobody is going to call you a good person if you aren't.”

“I don't feel like a good person,” he murmurs. Debby sighs. 

“And that's why you're getting help. Speaking of which, we need to continue our game plan. You need to eat three meals a day, healthy meals, and take daily showers. Hygiene and health are important, especially if you're going to wait until after this performance to check yourself in.”

“Yes ma'am.”

She leans back and takes a sip of her drink. “I think if you follow this plan to a tee, you'll last until we can get you proper help. You still taking your medication?”

“Yes.”  _ Probably a little too often.  _ It wouldn't be hard for him to overdose.

“J. Look at me.” Debby knows him too well. “Is it the correct amount?”

He shrugs. She shakes her head. “I'm making you a schedule. It's decided.”

Josh nods. Thank God for Debby.

-

The next week and a half goes better than Josh thought it would. Debby, true to her word, does in fact make him an intricate, color coded schedule that tells him when to eat, when to shower, when to take his medicine (distributed by Debby herself) and even includes time for him to take his smoke breaks. Debby throws all his liquor in the garbage and purchases him nicotine patches and nicotine gum to help him with his addiction. His fingertips still tingle, only being able to smoke one pack a day, but with Debby’s help, it's manageable. 

Tyler hasn't talked to him since Josh kicked him out. Josh is still a bit in disbelief that Tyler actually listened to his demands. 

He even calls up his parents and tells them he's checking himself in rehab. They don't ask him why; his mother already recognized that he needed help and they congratulate him for seeking that help.

The morning of Josh's flight, Debby stops him before he goes into the airport and grabs his shoulders. She hasn't left his side during all this time and Josh can't thank her enough for it.

“Hey,” she says. “I'm so proud of you. This past week, you've gone against everything you wanted to do.”

“I want to relapse,” Josh admits. “I feel awful.”

“I know. Your body isn't used to order right now. But after this performance, others will take care of you. You won't have to use as much energy.”

He nods and reaches out to pull Debby into a hug. She's a bit taken back, but hugs him tightly. “Thank you for everything. I honestly think I would have did something stupid if it wasn't for you.”

“You got a long ways to go, but you're off to a great start. I love you Josh, I always will. You'll do so well at this performance and you're gonna win that award and prove to everyone how awesome you are. Remember to drink lots of water and give yourself breaks, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Call me when you land.”

“Of course.” One hug later, Josh grabs his suitcase and ventures into the airport. 

-

The performance and speech isn't what bothers Josh, it's the fans. Everyone wants to take pictures with him and he has to keep a smile up. Every little touch makes him jump. He's self conscious they'll be able to tell he's been smoking. He's fearful they'll ask about Tyler. He's worried they'll be able to tell how sick he is.

Most of them are kind. There are a few that push boundaries, and those are the ones that make Josh start to panic. He wants Debby to be next to him. He wants his family. How can he check himself into rehab alone? Why did he think this was a good idea?

Josh thanks everyone for winning the award. He puts on his fakest smile, tells everyone goodbye, and runs. He tries to use his coping methods. In through his nose, out through his mouth,  _ one two three four.  _

He doesn't check himself into rehab. Josh isn't strong enough to do it by himself. He doesn't think he could spend all that time in Cleveland of all places.

Josh knows he could fly back to LA and ask Debby to go with him, but that doesn't quite feel right either. So Josh does the last thing he'd ever expect to do. 

He rents a car and drives down to Columbus. Speeds to Columbus is probably a more accurate term, because what should have taken him two and a half hours only took him half that long. When he enters town, Josh drives to the place he's barely been in because it hurt too much to go there.

He doesn't bother to pull into the driveway, opting to drive straight into the lawn instead.The car is still running as he practically rolls out of it, his door wide open as he shuffles up the steps and knocks on the door.

Tyler answers. His eyes are wide. 

“Josh?”

Josh bursts into tears. Tyler pulls him into a big hug and pulls him in through the front door, his arms tight around Josh’s waist. 

Neither one of them talk. Josh continues to cry into Tyler’s shoulder as Tyler moves him to the sofa. Jenna pokes her head in from around the corner, worry stretched across her features, and Tyler shoos her away.

Josh isn't sure how long he cries, but he knows it's been well needed. He hasn't cried in months, at least, not this hard. His hands shake and he feels mentally exhausted.

“J,” Tyler whispers, rubbing Josh's arm gently, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was a dick.”

“I expected too much of you,” Josh replies, his voice hoarse. Even talking feels like too much. He's still tired from the APMA performance, which he had spent half of completely out of breath. 

“No, you didn't. I was a shitty friend. What I said was shitty too. I never should have called it an experiment because it was more than that. And the fact that I wanted to keep it a secret made it so much worse. I was part of the problem. I never stopped to think how you would be affected. And I never thought my bad decision would be this terrible.”

Josh sighs, wipes his nose on his sleeve, and pushes himself off of his friend. “I gotta check myself into rehab. Will you come with me?”

“Of course I will,” Tyler says. “I told Jenna about what happened between you and me.”

“And?”

“She was fine with it. Jenna is open minded. Besides, you aren't our first gay friend. Even if you were, that wouldn't change the fact that you're a good person.”

Josh pauses. An idea comes to his head. “Did you tell Jenna I was gay?”

“Of course not.”

“I want to tell her.” It'll be good practice, he decides, for when he wants to come out to his parents, his friends, and eventually, the fans. He's already come out to himself. He's still wary, but it's a start. 

Josh wants to know what it's like to be happy. Really, truly, happy.

“I'll go get her,” Tyler stands up and disappears around the corner. Josh waits, tapping on his thighs, trying to keep himself motivated to do it so he won't back out. It's just Jenna. After Jenna, maybe he'll tell Mark, and then Dustin, and then Jesse, and then Michael and Brad. 

She still looks worried when Tyler brings her into the living room. Jenna sits down next to Josh on the couch and reaches for his hand.

“Hey, how are you doing?”

“I've been better,” Josh mumbles, refusing to look her in the eyes. “Tyler is going to go with me when I check myself into rehab.”

“Oh, Josh.” She gives him a half hug. “You know I'm here for you, right? We both are.”

“I know,” he pauses, and blurts out, “Jenna, I’m gay.”

She looks at him, then at Tyler, and then back at Josh. Jenna doesn't look upset or bothered, per say, just confused.

“So when you and Tyler... did stuff together--”

“I'm gay. He's not.”

“I love you, Jen,” Tyler says. Josh pretends that didn't hurt him. He needs to stop letting it hurt him. That's the first step in letting himself be happy. 

“Okay,” she says, clearing her throat. “That's okay. It's okay, because Tyler and I are going to support you no matter what. We love you. We want you to be happy. And if you want to go find a man to love, that's perfectly okay.”

“I’d have to let myself do that first,” Josh mumbles, pushing up from the sofa.  _ Someone that's not your husband.  _

It's time for him to go, plus he’s itching for a smoke break. “Anyways.”

Tyler presses a kiss to Jenna’s cheek and stands up. “I'll be back later. Gotta go help check Josh in.”

“You're an amazing person,” Jenna says, reaching up to give Josh another hug. He hugs her back. 

“Thank you,” he whispers into her ear.

Tyler leads Josh to the rental car still running in his grass. He offers to drive, which Josh is thankful for. He lights his cigarette and takes a drag. Tyler looks over at him.

“How long will you be in there?”

“As long as it takes.”

“I'm proud of you. Not many people would go do this.”

Josh nods. “Well, I'm tired of being a piece of shit, so. As much as I wanna die, I don't want to feel that way forever. And I know I won't. I want to be clean again. I've been sober for almost two weeks now.”

“That's awesome, dude. Your performance tonight was awesome too. And your speech! I'm so proud of you!”

“Thank you.” He takes a deep breath in through his nose. “I won't be in love with you forever.”

“I know,” Tyler says. 

“When I get out, I want to tell Mark and Brad and Michael. Will you come with me?”

“Of course I will. You're my best friend. I'd do anything for you. And you, Josh Dun, deserve to be happy.”

Josh half smiles and drops his cigarette out the window. 

They finish the drive in silence.

-

At the rehabilitation center, Josh closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He feels Tyler take his hand. 

“I'm here,” he says.

Josh knows. 

He's known all along. 

And one day, he knows he'll be comfortable with who he is.

**Author's Note:**

> Pastelxmess on tumblr, please come talk to me. I'm lonely


End file.
